


Warning: Entering an IKEA May Result in Your Ultimate Demise

by duplicity, Faisalliot



Series: Retail Hell [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Choose Your Own Adventure, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Creature Harry Potter, Humor, M/M, Mild Horror, Vore, and then not-so-seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faisalliot/pseuds/Faisalliot
Summary: Tom Riddle goes to IKEA to buy a side table for his dorm room, where he gravely offends one of the employees with his rude attitude.Local IKEA Swallows A Man Whole. More News At Eleven.(This fic is formatted like a 'Choose Your Own Adventure' story! There are two paths and two endings. Simply follow the links at the end of each chapter to navigate.)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Retail Hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851667
Comments: 83
Kudos: 161





	1. Enter IKEA

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to IKEA! Once you enter, you can never leave...
> 
> **MAKE SURE YOU READ THIS: This fic is formatted like a 'Choose Your Own Adventure' story! There are two paths and two endings. Simply follow the links at the end of each chapter to navigate.**
> 
> Huge thank you to Faisalliot for providing the horror scene in Chapter 5 that I was unable to write. Go check out her fics!!
> 
> This is partially inspired by the SCP game also known as 'The Infinite IKEA'.

Tom had a need for a new side table for his dorm room.

Tom browsed online and pestered his friends for advice. He ended up deciding on an option most practical and applicable given his budget. A wonderful choice. The best choice.

A $10 side table from IKEA.

Said side table was twenty-two by twenty-two inches, particleboard drenched in acrylics, and considered 'easy assembly'.

Tom had never been to an IKEA before, but there was a first time for everything. Lucius would drop him off in front of the enormous blue building, and Tom would call once the purchase had been made so he and the side table could be picked up.

Tom had allotted no more than thirty minutes for the completion of this task. He would find the table he desired, make his purchase, and leave.

Being dropped off had its perks; namely, less walking up to the entrance. Tom dismissed his ride, strode up to the glass doors—not even automated, how plebeian—and shoved his way inside.

There was a long, tall escalator that led up to the main part of the shop. Behind said escalator was a children's area full of screaming brats. Tom maneuvered past the ruckus and stepped onto the escalator.

Up he went, away from the ground floor. As he drew nearer to the top, he could make out the gaudy, vibrant displays of knick knacks and colourful cushions.

Once his feet were firmly upon the floor, Tom sought a map.

The map appeared simple enough. There was a long, winding, one-way path that led throughout most of the store. An interesting business model, certainly. It encouraged all customers to walk the entire store, where they would inevitably make more impulse purchases and line the pockets of the wealthy company executives.

Tom was no such fool. He had arrived here for one reason, and he would not be deterred from his goal. After locating the section of the map dedicated to tables and committing it to memory, Tom set off into the depths of the IKEA.

The IKEA was less crowded than Tom would have expected for a weekend. A few shoppers with carts full of extraneous items were walking about, but they were few and far between as Tom attempted to make his way through the shop as quickly as possible.

"Hello! What brought you into the store today?"

Tom withheld a wince and turned around. His eyes were immediately scalded by the offensive yellow shirt that identified the greeter as an IKEA employee. The plastic name tag, a custom vinyl sticker pasted upside down, read 'HARRY P.'.

"I'm fine, thanks," Tom said to him.

"If you're sure!" came the cheery response, brilliant green eyes sparkling—sparkling???—behind large round glasses. "Is this your first time at IKEA?"

"Yes," Tom said, now beginning to get annoyed. Did he have a look about him that indicated he was new to this place? Or did they ask this of everyone who entered the shop? "I know what I'm here for, and I don't require any assistance, thank you."

"It's just, well, first-timers can tend to get a bit lost. Big store and all that."

Tom flashed the employee a smile. _"Harry,"_ he said, deliberately applying use of the name, "I can assure you I will have no such problem. If anything, I feel that to ask you to assist me with my purchase would prove to be a detriment rather than an aid."

As expected, overly-familiar use of the first name had the desired effect—Harry's face did a funny scrunch of distaste. "That sounds like a plan, then!" Harry said. His voice was still pleasant, but it was now distinctly devoid of genuine emotion. "You go on and find what you need, and I'll be around if you need to ask any questions."

"I won't," Tom promised, then walked away.

Eventually, Tom arrived at the space that was dedicated to the living room. Furniture displays here ranged from tasteful to juvenile. Tom made a beeline towards the section for side tables and was greeted with a number of options.

The names of the side tables were clearly listed alongside the prices. Tom skimmed his eyes down the rows, searching for the LACK side table.

No table.

Tom repeated his passive search twice, just to be sure, then walked the aisles of the section to confirm the absence of his desired purchase. Ridiculous. He had checked the stock online this morning. Perhaps it was located in another section? Though Tom could not imagine where else a side table ought to be.

Tom pulled out his phone and Googled the IKEA map. Maybe the LACK side table could be considered a workspace item. Doubtful, though.

He would just have to walk the entire living room area to find it. The table _was_ a popular item; perhaps it had its own display separate from the rest?

After more time wasted, Tom was no closer to locating the side table he wanted. With consternation, he noted that the area was also devoid of employees. Not that he wanted the employee from before to be here, but it would have been nice to ask someone else about the table.

Tom checked the time. It was nearing the half hour mark. He was getting dangerously close to wasting the day away here in this dim-lit furniture shop.

"Any luck?"

Cursing under his breath, Tom swivelled in the direction of that nauseatingly-cheerful voice and—

_—recoiled._

Harry was smiling so wide his face must have been in pain, the expression was so exaggerated. The spread of that smile, lips stretched around neat rows of white teeth, looked unnervingly inhuman.

Tom felt an odd shudder run down his spine, the kind of sensation accompanied by the hairs on his arms raising, and resolved not to give an inch to this witless IKEA employee. "I'm browsing," Tom said.

Harry's eyes, sparkle-less, were now glinting, _glowing,_ in the most bizarre way. It was as though the entirety of Harry's face was unaffected by the most mundane rules of the universe—concepts such as the existence of poor IKEA lighting meant next to nothing.

"Like I said," Harry continued, heedless of the glower on Tom's face, "first-timers can get a bit lost. It's nothing to be ashamed of!"

"I'm not lost."

Harry's insane smile returned, dimpling his cheeks. "Oh, I know! But I don't think you'll find what you're looking for here. You're looking at side tables, yeah?"

"Yes," Tom said, hesitant. His desire to tell Harry to fuck off was at odds with his desire to make his purchase and leave this place as soon as possible. "Are there other sections dedicated to side tables in the shop?"

"You're looking for the LACK table, aren't you?"

Tom's unease multiplied. "Yes. I assume that particular item is not located here, then."

"Nope! Let me show you where it is," Harry said.

Before Tom could protest, Harry began to walk off, absurdly fast, and Tom had to jog a bit to keep up.

"You can just tell me where it is," Tom said, hasty. "And I can find it myself."

"No need," Harry replied, still striding along at that ridiculous pace, like he was gliding across the linoleum, not stepping on it. "It's my pleasure to help!"

And so Tom had no choice but to follow Harry through the winding maze of IKEA.

They made a few detours, cutting through sections that Harry claimed were 'shortcuts'. By this point, Tom was eager to be done with the entire affair to side table shopping. He was willing to accept anything that would see him closer to his new goal of _leaving this damn store._

"Are we almost there?" Tom asked, after some time had gone by and all the furniture displays were beginning to blend together. Tom was reasonably sure they had passed the same stuffed monkey display a while back.

"Almost," Harry promised. "Your LACK table awaits."

Tom could not push the matter further since Harry had refused to tell him where to go. So Tom kept quiet while they walked, noting the lack of customers in this section of the store. Well, at least now he could tell Lucius he was nearly done.

Careful to keep one eye on Harry's bright yellow shirt, Tom drew out his mobile and sent a text stating he was nearly finished with his task.

> How long do you think, then? I'm still in the middle of a grocery run

> No more than twenty minutes, I would say.

"Oh," Harry said suddenly.

Tom glanced up to see Harry was now walking backwards and staring at him. "What? Is the table here?"

"Just felt I ought to mention that service gets a bit iffy in certain parts of the store. No big deal, though!"

Tom tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. "It's fine." His message had gone through, which was the important part.

"We're not far off now," Harry said.

They turned another corner and entered a new section. This particular area was filled with many stuffed animals and strange decorative art pieces. Tom gazed at the tall rows of endless animals. All of the creatures were facing forward and staring at him.

Harry's manic pace had yet to slow, though, so Tom did not have long to ponder on the peculiarities of this portion of IKEA.

"And here we are!" Harry exclaimed, spreading his arms wide.

Tom looked over. There was a tall stack of plain boxes clearly labelled and priced at the $9.99 IKEA LACK side table. "Excellent," he said. "I'll just take one of these and be on my way."

"Do you need it gift wrapped? I can help you carry it to the front—"

"Your assistance is noted. But _unnecessary,"_ Tom interrupted. He deliberately ran his eyes up and down Harry's short stature, then reached over to grab a box from the top of the pile. "As you can see, I'd prefer to carry my purchase a good deal of distance _above_ the ground."

Harry tilted his head to the side, expression unchanged. "Okay! If you say so, Tom! I'll see you at the front checkouts."

Harry left.

Tom wedged his purchase under his arm and heaved a sigh of relief. Time to get the hell out of here. With his free hand, he fished his mobile out to check the time. It was now fifteen minutes past when he'd wanted to be done. There was also no service here, as Harry had mentioned earlier.

His phone was put away, leaving both arms available to heft the box into a more comfortable position. Tom turned away from the pile of side tables and looked for the arrow markers on the floor.

A few paces away lay a white tape arrow upon the floor. Direction located, Tom set about following it towards the exit.

The walk continued for some time. Tom passed a second wall full of stuffed animals and contemplated the valueless addition of children's toys in a _furniture shop._ Was it not bad enough there was a designated place for herding them? Did there also have to be dozens of areas designed to lure them into making a mess of things?

Tom had turned two right corners when he came upon another intersection. Another intersection that... that had an arrow pointing right.

That couldn't be correct.

Tom glanced further down at where a display of purple and blue desk lamps rested atop a wide white table. The lamps were new, he was fairly sure. Perhaps he had been mistaken about the direction.

* * *

_Choose:_

[ **TURN LEFT** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959697/chapters/63104455)

or

[ **TURN RIGHT** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959697/chapters/63104398)


	2. The Right Turn

Tom turned right.

It was not long at all before he was greeted with yet _another_ wall of stuffed animals. This was ridiculous. Tom scanned his surroundings for familiarity and scowled. The arrows on the floor were _still_ guiding him towards the right.

Fine. Some idiot—likely that Harry fellow—had thought it a fun joke to create an endless loop. Tom was not about to fall for a juvenile prank.

He would return to the intersection where the lamps were visible and walk the opposite direction.

Tom shifted his grip on his box—he had not expected to be carrying it for this long—and continued to walk. As expected, he came upon the intersection where the desk lamps were visible. Glancing down at the floor revealed…

...that the arrow previously pointing right was now pointing in the direction he had just come from.

Baffled, Tom set his box down so he could examine the floor.

Had someone _peeled_ the tape off and moved it?

The floor appeared perfectly clean, and the new arrow did not look like it had been tampered with. Though it was hard to say if that was true or not.

Still a prank, then. Tom straightened and picked his box back up. He would turn left, as planned, and head for the entrance.

Tom turned left, walking towards the lamps. On the floor beneath his feet, the arrows continued to point in the opposite direction. One arrow, two arrows, _three arrows_.

The number of arrows continued to increase in frequency and number as he walked, a surreal unease settling deep in his gut as the lack of other customers in the area registered with him.

Tom reached a new intersection. Upon the floor were _three_ arrows, all pointing the way he had come from. Above the arrows was a message taped in large, blocky letters:

**STOP**

Tom was uncomfortable. The T-intersection branched off in two directions: the left led towards a bright section filled with lighting fixtures, and the right led towards a bunch of dining tables.

From what Tom could remember of the map, those two sections were supposed to be on different floors.

Tom felt a reluctance to turn his back on the intersection, but he was also not about to backtrack the way he had come from. If Harry was trying to unnerve him, Tom would not give Harry the satisfaction of a visible response.

So for the second time, Tom turned left, heading for the bright glow of the various display lights.

Some of the light fixtures had fans attached. Most of the fans were on, meaning they rotated at speed while Tom passed them.

The whirring of the fans filled the air with an eerie ambience. Tom kept a firm grip on his box and maintained his pace.

Partway down the walkway, half of the lights flickered.

Tom felt his traitorous heart speed up, but he ignored it. It was just some lights. It didn't mean anything.

"Very funny," Tom said, conversationally, just in case _someone_ was nearby and watching, waiting for him to freak out.

There was a pause. For a second, the fans continued to whir, spinning in their quiet way.

Then all of the lights went out at once.

Tom did _not_ scream, but he did swear a lot, nearly dropping his box onto his foot in his haste to retrieve his mobile and activate the flashlight function.

Flashlight on, Tom swung around in a wide circle, shining light in every direction, searching for the culprit.

There was no one in sight, but Tom could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

Tom retrieved his box _again,_ tucking it under his left arm. Worst case scenario, he would bludgeon someone to death with the table box. This was a solid plan, and he felt better at having the contingency in place.

"I am not lost," Tom muttered to himself. "I am not lost."

_SHRRRK!_

Tom impulsively, violently swung his box out to the right with a loud crashing sound.

The lights flickered back on for a moment, revealing that Tom had bashed five boxed alarm clocks onto the floor. Well. That wasn't his fault.

Tom stared at the mess. Should he pick them back up? Employees hated when you did this sort of thing and didn't put things back.

Tom was very, very sure that Harry was probably watching and laughing at him.

Tom cleared his throat and put all the alarm clocks back on the table. There. He'd done his duty as a decent human being. Harry ought to leave him alone, now.

Right?

Tom reached for his box. The lights stayed on. Okay. Good. Excellent. This time... Tom would follow the arrows on the floor. Even if they led him in circles. Or, hopefully, he would find one of those info posts that had maps.

At the next intersection, Tom followed the arrows and turned right with confidence. This was just a clever labyrinth constructed by a bored employee. He'd come across someone else eventually.

* * *

_Proceed:_

[ **THREE HOURS LATER** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959697/chapters/63104518)


	3. The Left Turn

No, this was ridiculous. He had taken two right turns, and it made _no sense_ to take another right.

Tom turned left.

As he continued to walk, he noticed that there were no more arrows upon the ground. There were, however, more rows of stuffed animals along the left side, all teddy bears in various hues of tan and pink.

Above him, the fluorescent lights were flickering. Tom shifted his grip on his box—he had not expected to be carrying it for this long—and continued to walk. The floor under his feet remained clear of tape arrows. 

He hit another intersection and paused. There were no arrows telling him which way to go. Left or right? 

Tom conjured a mental image of his previous path. If he turned right _now,_ he would be facing the direction he had originally come from, two right turns ago.

So that meant he ought to turn left again.

If this left turn didn’t lead anywhere, then he would return to the intersection where the lamps were visible and walk the opposite direction. This was a solid plan, Tom told himself. It was a sensible plan.

Tom turned left for the second time and was greeted with yet _another_ row of shelves filled with teddy bears. Only these bears were blue and green.

Other than that, this entire walkway looked _exactly_ the same as the previous one. Right down to the display of alarm clocks off to the right hand side.

Baffled, Tom set his box down so he could examine the shelves.

The eyes of the stuffed bears, glossy and vacant, were… more vibrant in the odd lighting of the IKEA. Did the bears change colour somehow? Was that it? But even so, how had he ended up in an identical area?

A prank, maybe. Tom stepped away from the wall and picked his box back up. He would backtrack, as planned, and turn the opposite way, heading for the entrance.

The next intersection branched off in two directions: the left led towards a bright section filled with lighting fixtures, and the right led towards a bunch of dining tables.

From what Tom could remember of the map, those two sections were supposed to be on different floors.

Ill at ease, Tom turned right, heading for the selection of wooden tables.

Some of the tables had animals seated in the chairs, though none of the creatures were actually tall enough to reach the height of the tables. Tom kept a firm grip on his box and maintained his pace.

Partway down the walkway, half of the lights flickered again. Tom blinked at his surroundings. He could have _sworn_ some of the creatures had changed colour again.

Tom felt his traitorous heart speed up, but he ignored it. It was just some lights. Some lights and some stuffed animals. It didn't mean anything.

"Very funny," Tom said, conversationally, just in case _someone_ was nearby and watching, waiting for him to freak out.

There was a pause.

Then all of the lights went out at once.

Tom did _not_ scream, but he did swear a lot, nearly dropping his box onto his foot in his haste to retrieve his mobile and activate the flashlight function.

Flashlight on, Tom swung around in a wide circle, shining light in every direction, searching for the culprit.

There was no one in sight, but Tom could not shake the feeling that he was being watched by the stuffed bears.

Tom retrieved his box _again,_ tucking it under his left arm. Worst case scenario, he would bludgeon someone to death with the table box. This was a solid plan, and he felt better at having the contingency in place.

"I am not lost," Tom muttered to himself. "I am not lost."

_SHRRRK!_

Tom impulsively, violently swung his box out to the right and connected with nothing but air.

The lights flickered back on for a moment. Tom swung around again, searching, and saw…

...all of the bears from their respective tables had _moved._ They were now congregating in his direction like they had been coming for him under the cover of darkness.

Tom stared at the disorganized lines of colourful stuffed bears. He was very, very sure that Harry was probably watching and laughing at him.

Tom cleared his throat awkwardly. He could not help but feel like the lifeless eyes of the stuffed animals were casting judgement on him. Whatever. He had just overreacted in a most spectacular and embarrassing way. Harry ought to leave him alone, now.

Right?

Tom reached for his box and cast one final glance over his shoulder. The lights stayed on. The stuffed animals stayed put. Okay. Good. Excellent. 

At the next intersection, Tom followed the arrows and turned right with great haste. This was just a clever prank constructed by a bored employee. He'd come across someone else eventually, right?

* * *

_Proceed:_

[ **THREE HOURS LATER** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959697/chapters/63104518)


	4. Three Hours Later

"Where the _fuck_ have you been?" Lucius demanded, unlocking the trunk of his car for Tom to deposit his purchase. "You look like shit. Did a fight break out or something? I tried calling you about a thousand times. I was going to leave without you when you finally texted me."

Tom tossed his side table into the cavern of the trunk and ignored Lucius, slamming the trunk shut and moving to the passenger side door.

"Seriously, Tom, what the hell? Are you alright?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Tom slid into the passenger seat, buckled himself in, closed his eyes, and began to rub at his temples, trying to purge the last few hours of nightmare scenarios from his mind.

Endless, ENDLESS walking. Lights flickering on and off, ominous noises from every direction. Tom's arms were the equivalent of a newborn infant's after carting around his purchase the entire time. His LACK side table had been hardwon, but it had _not_ been worth the effort.

"Did you want me to take you to the hospital?" Lucius asked. Then, as Tom opened one eye to glare at him, he clarified, "I won't ask _why,_ I just think maybe... maybe you ought to get looked over by someone."

"I. Am. Fine," Tom got out through gritted teeth. "Just drive."

They drove, and Lucius did not ask any more questions.

* * *

Two days later, Tom returned to the IKEA, intent upon raining hell down on the employee who had absolutely and irrevocably ruined his entire weekend.

It was now a Monday morning, and Lucius had outright refused to bring Tom back here, meaning Tom had been forced to take public transit like a common peasant.

All in all, Tom was in a terrible mood and ready to demand retribution for the crimes committed against his person.

Tom pushed his way through the doors of the IKEA and took the escalator steps two at a time, fueled by his righteous anger.

To his shock, Harry was waiting for him at the top.

"Hi, Tom! How's your new side table working out?"

The mere sight of Harry was enough to trigger all of Tom's barely repressed memories of his previous IKEA visit. And how the hell did Harry know his name? Now that he thought about it, hadn't Harry used his name before, too?

"It's fine," Tom said stiffly. "I'd like to speak to your manager, please."

"My manager?" Harry repeated. His eyes were glossing over with that strange, strange sheen.

"Your manager, yes."

Harry took a step towards him. Tom held steady.

Then Harry took another step, then another and another, until they were much too close to each other to be comfortable. Tom could make out flecks of gold in those hypnotic green eyes.

"I am the manager," Harry said softly. "This is _my_ IKEA."

Tom balked. Harry was _his_ age! This was absurd. "Don't be ridiculous," Tom snapped. "I'm not about to fall for that."

Harry shrugged. "I offered to walk you to the checkouts, but you didn't want my help."

"Because I didn't _need_ your help," Tom answered angrily. "And then you went and trapped me in an endless IKEA loop like a lunatic!"

Harry's expression turned contemplative. "Okay, I can see you are upset about what happened. I think I know how to fix this."

_Finally._

"Lead the way," Tom said, gesturing. He would not let Harry out of his sight. "But for God's sake, walk at a normal pace."

"Not a problem!" Harry looped his arm with Tom's and proceeded to drag him along.

Tom stumbled once, then regained his bearings enough to keep up with the (thankfully) regular pace Harry had set for them.

"So," Harry started, "why don't you describe for me the incident that occurred? What happened, who was involved, and were you afraid for your life?"

_"You_ were involved," Tom said, incredulous.

"Hmm. Interesting."

This conversation was going nowhere. Tom decided his effort would be better spent taking note of his surroundings. They were headed through the showroom again, past a regular amount of _normal_ displays. There were also a decent number of other people around, which was reassuring.

"Are there no other employees I can talk to?" Tom asked. "An HR manager?" Literally _anyone else,_ he begged mentally.

"Nope! Just me and IKEA."

"How do you even manage a space this large on your own, then?" Tom yanked himself away from Harry and folded his arms over his chest.

"I have these long-limbed, faceless entities that I summon to do the dirty work. Just things like cleaning the floors and stocking the shelves, not a big deal!"

Tom could not decide whether or not Harry was being serious. It was probably better not to ask.

"Here we are!" Harry declared.

Tom glanced down to see that _somehow_ Harry had taken him by the arm again without his noticing. Then he glanced up. They were at the IKEA Bistro.

"Swedish meatballs," Harry said in a dreamy tone. "Nothing else compares, honestly."

There were a few customers seated at various tables with breakfast foods loaded on their plates. Tom swallowed his trepidation and bit the bullet.

"So why are we here?"

Harry smiled at him, only this time the smile was normal. It looked genuine, _normal,_ and not at all cause for alarm. "Why, for breakfast. Obviously! There's nothing a nice, hearty meal can't fix. Wars have ended over less, you know."

They made their way over to the food line, which was empty. Harry grabbed two trays and began to slide them along.

Tom followed behind as Harry loaded both trays with a full breakfast selection. There were two employees behind the counter—the only other actual employees Tom had seen aside from Harry. When purchasing his side table the other day, Tom had gone through the self-checkout system.

Once the trays were full, Harry directed them towards an empty table. All around them, Tom could hear the distant sounds of utensils and chatter.

"Go ahead," Harry said encouragingly, nodding at the food.

Tom picked up his fork and eyed the sausage and scrambled eggs. He speared a portion of eggs and lifted it up, only to pause as he noticed Harry was... watching him. Harry's own utensils were resting on the tray, untouched.

"Hmm?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

Tom lowered his fork. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I've had all this before," Harry said easily. "I'm curious if you'll like it. One bite of a Swedish meatball will change your life, I promise."

This was starting to sound like a poisoning attempt. Tom wasn't sure what Harry was trying to get at.

"I can see you are not convinced," Harry said sadly. "I will have to be bold and set the example."

With that, Harry picked up his fork, leant across the table, and stabbed one of Tom's meatballs up. Then he took a large bite of it and started chewing loudly. "See? Delicious!" Harry said, swallowing. "Yummy!"

Appeased, Tom poked at one of the meatballs and brought it to eye level. It appeared innocuous, like any other meatball. It even smelled nice.

Free food was free food. Tom took a bite.

Harry let out a whooping cheer. Tom chewed slowly and eyed Harry with suspicion. The food was good, sure, but it was no cause for celebration.

Harry shoved his own tray to the side and braced both elbows on the table. "Wonderful. What do you think?"

"It's nice," Tom allowed.

"Couldn't you just eat it for the rest of your life?"

Tom wouldn't go that far, but it seemed rude to disagree. "Sure," he said.

"Great! I'll be sure to let the chefs know." Harry stood up, patted Tom on the back of his hand, and walked off towards the kitchens.

Tom dug into the rest of his meal. It was good food, he could admit that to himself now that Harry was gone. While he ate, he let his gaze pass over the surrounding tables.

It took him a moment to pinpoint what was wrong.

The people were moving and talking, but none of them were _eating._ Their arms were going up and down, raising forkfuls of food to mouths that consumed nothing.

Tom shifted back in his seat, disturbed. Perhaps Lucius was right and returning here had been a mistake—

"Going somewhere?"

Tom jumped. He _jumped,_ and then he held back a scream, because standing next to Harry was a _long-limbed, faceless entity_ dressed in the cafeteria worker's uniform.

All of Tom's mental alarms were now going off the rails. The food from before sat uncomfortably in his stomach, twisting and churning.

"I just gave your compliments to the chef," Harry said, raising a brow. "Were you not going to finish the rest?"

Tom sat back down.

"Anyways," Harry said, "now that you've become a part of IKEA, I think it'll be best for us to set some ground rules. Namely, IKEA doesn't like it when you're rude to me, which is probably why she decided to trap you in here for however long the other day."

There were many pieces of that statement that needed addressing and further clarification. Firstly, becoming 'a part of the IKEA', and secondly, that 'IKEA doesn't like it when you're rude to me'.

"I am appreciative of the meal," Tom said, "but I'm afraid I should be going. I hadn't intended to stay this long. My friend will be waiting for me."

"I'm afraid that's no longer an option," Harry said sagely. "Your friend can always come visit, of course!"

"D-don't be ridiculous," Tom said, standing up. "I'm going to go, and if you like, we can talk another time—" Tom had no intention of _ever_ coming back here, but Harry didn't need to know that.

"You ate the meatball," Harry said in a serious tone. "That means you can never leave IKEA. You're stuck here forever now."

Tom stared in horror. He did not even flinch as the faceless worker reached out with its abnormally-long arm to give his elbow a consoling pat.

"I'm really glad you'll be staying here," Harry went on. "It's kind of lonely with no one to talk to when the shop is closed."

Tom managed to tear his eyes away long enough to look at the surrounding people—who, he could now see, were _not_ people, and were just as horrifying in appearance as the chef by Harry's side.

"Let me give you a tour," Harry said cheerfully. "I'll introduce you to everyone proper."

Tom pulled out his mobile and saw that there was no service.

"Oh!" Harry said. "I can fix that." He held his hand out for Tom's mobile.

Tom handed it over. Not like he could use it to call for help at the moment.

Harry did something, and then the screen lit up, ringing immediately. It was Lucius; Tom could see the display name.

"Is this your friend?" asked Harry, sounding curious.

Would it be better to tell the truth? Or to lie? Tom tried to craft a rough mental model of the possibilities, only the situation was so far removed from reality that he had no idea what would happen either way.

"Yes," Tom said. Harry had mentioned that people would be able to visit. If that was true, then it was best to be honest.

"Do you mind if I answer?"

* * *

_Choose:_

[ **LET HARRY ANSWER THE PHONE** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959697/chapters/63131398)

or

[ **ASK FOR THE PHONE BACK** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959697/chapters/63104659)


	5. The Other Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw vore for this chapter!!

Tom thought that over. If Harry talked to Lucius, then Lucius might do something completely idiotic, like come here, be convinced to eat the food, and 'become a part of the IKEA'. Whatever that meant. Some kind of twisted Persephone myth lodged in with this freakish shop from hell.

Perhaps if Tom failed to answer, Lucius would realize something was wrong and contact the authorities.

"Pass it here," Tom said.

Harry handed the phone over. Tom stared at the screen for a long while, then put the phone into his pocket, not daring to use it while Harry was watching him. He just had to trust that Lucius would do the smart thing.

"Okay," Harry said, "time for tour!" 

Harry held out his arm for Tom to take, like they were about to take a long walk off a short pier.

Tom had no choice. That was what he told himself as he allowed Harry to pull him out of the bistro and back into the rest of the IKEA.

"Now, since you're going to stay here at the IKEA with me forever as punishment for your past transgressions against nature—"

"My _what?"_ Tom blurted out, unable to help himself.

Harry paused midstep, twisting his head to the side to regard Tom with a curious expression. "You really don't know, Tom? Don't you know why you're here?"

Heart pounding, Tom tried to think of what the safest response would be. Ignorance wasn't terrible in this case, was it? It was the truth.

"I have no idea," Tom said slowly.

“You’re here because in a past life you mutilated your soul beyond all recognition and therefore are no longer permitted into the afterlife,” Harry said with gravitas. Then, in a happier tone, he added, “At least, not until you’ve atoned for all your sins and glued your soul back together with remorse! I happen to think spending an eternity with me in IKEA is a great start.”

Tom prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of that Lucius had gone to contact the police.

Harry frowned at Tom’s lack of response. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Anyways, on with the tour!”

* * *

THREE HOURS LATER

* * *

“How much longer?” Tom asked warily. 

The question had been burning at the forefront of his mind for the past two and a half hours. The endless walkways of the IKEA were beginning to make his head spin. Never in his life had he seen so much furniture before.

“No rushing!” Harry insisted. “It ruins the ending. You have to take each section into your heart with care.”

Partway through the ‘tour’, Tom and Harry had been joined by a number of faceless people clad in IKEA uniforms. Harry was not bothered by their horrific appearances. In fact, he greeted most of them by name, as friends.

Had these people once been _customers?_

“Hey, Tom! Look at this! An IKEA alarm clock.” 

Tom looked over. Harry was holding an alarm clock in blocky blue and yellow stripes, a dopey smile on his face.

“Harry,” asked Tom. He swallowed nervously. “What am I supposed to _do_ here with you? Run the IKEA? I’m not… I’m not going to end up like the _other_ employees, am I?” That would be a fate worse than death.

Harry put the clock back down. He was still smiling. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m not going to lose my face, right?” Tom said quickly.

“Oh!” Harry started to laugh. “That’s funny!”

Tom tried to laugh along, but it sounded more like a dying wheeze.

Harry… kept on laughing. And laughing, and _laughing,_ his mouth splitting into the widest grin Tom had ever seen.

Tom attempted to move back, but Harry’s hand shot out, clamping down on Tom’s forearm.

Harry was still laughing, still grinning, his teeth white and gleaming.

“Er—” Tom said, desperate. “Are we done with the tour?”

And still, Harry did not respond. He kept laughing, and laughing, and laughing, until the sound of it seemed to reverberate unpleasantly in Tom’s ears. 

Something like fear, perhaps stronger than that, stole the air from Tom’s lungs and he tried to back away. His palms grew sweaty, and he tried to wrench his hand free from Harry’s vice-like grip, but it was to no avail. And the laughter, it was getting louder too, louder than it should’ve been. 

Tom tried to rationalize it—surely it was still normal to laugh like that?—but as his eyes began to tear up from the volume, he could deny the truth of it no longer.

As if prompted by his thoughts, the laughter warped, morphing into something… else.

A strange, ambient rumbling shook the ground. Tom was sure it was all in his head until he realized Harry was shaking, too. He kept pulling at Harry’s grip, skin growing red with irritation, but when a bang nearly knocked him off his feet, Tom stopped and turned. 

It was the furniture. Instead of staying in place like it was supposed to, it was rattling and clanking around them. Tom realized, after a moment of incomprehension, that the clanking was eerily on-beat with Harry’s manic laughter.

And that was when Tom froze, still and horrified, abandoning his attempt to free himself in favor of watching. 

The cheaply-made clutter crashed onto the floor, and the laughing, if it could even be described as that at this point, seemed to multiply, as if Tom were surrounded by _multiple_ people who were laughing. The black, faceless mimicries of employees moved ever closer with every catastrophic boom, footsteps slamming on the ground.

Tom’s head throbbed at the cacophony of it all, and he held his free hand to his ear as if to muffle it, but with an icy jolt he realized the sound was all in his mind. And that made no sense, none of this made any fucking sense, and all of it was—

Tom whirled to face Harry. “What the hell are you—?!”

—but it wasn’t Harry anymore.

Those dark, faceless creatures crept into the corners of Tom’s vision, but he bore them no mind as he stared at what once was Harry, transfixed and frozen in pure, unadulterated terror. 

Harry was still laughing. 

Wood bits flitted past his eyes as the crashing and smashing of future hit a fever pitch, but Tom barely dared draw breath because, in his moment of distraction, Harry’s jaw had _widened._

Tom watched, trembling, eardrums throbbing as Harry’s jaw stretched further and further down his chest, eyes rolling back and nose shrinking as he became little more than a yawning abyss. Teeth cracked and skin split, blood gushing to the floor and drowning out the off white tile. 

And still, Harry was laughing. 

Dimly, Tom knew Harry had let go of him, but horror left him rooted in place. Tom gazed into that horrible, gaping maw, and watched as it swelled. Swelled until it engulfed all the light in the room. Until it stole away the black, faceless creatures.

Until it swallowed Tom himself.

Down, down, down, Tom went tumbling into the darkness. 

The laughter did not stop. If anything, it was somehow louder than ever before. 

Tom was screaming, now—or maybe he wasn’t. He couldn’t tell anymore. He writhed as he fell, sloshing through an unseen wetness. It choked him, crawling down his throat and plugging up his wails. His vision grew dim, his stomach dropping out as he seemed to fall for an eternity. 

Perhaps he did. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he had. 

Tom barely noticed when he hit the bottom.

Through fading vision, Tom looked up into the deep, into the dark, into the unfathomable blackness through which he’d fallen. 

Up above him, someone was peering over the edge, face blank and hands clasped benignly over the edges. Tom looked up and into that blank, empty face, and within the pinprick of light he saw the strange, frightening glint of two uncaring eyes.

Tom was no longer inside of the abyss―he was staring into its eyes.

And those eyes were green.

So terribly, terribly, green.

Tom whimpered, or perhaps he didn’t. He leaned back, as if to escape that damning gaze, and something squished unpleasantly underneath his palm, sliding across the skin like a tongue. 

Tom tried to shake his hand frantically to dispel the sensation and found that he could no longer move. He was frozen. Locked in place. And then he was slipping, legs already submerged inside the blackened guts of what could only be God itself.

_“Help,”_ he tried and failed to say.

There was a crescent of a smile up above and at once, Harry’s silhouette disappeared, the light snuffed out, and Tom knew no more.

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S ALL FOR THIS ENDING! feel free to go back to the start and try again!


	6. The Happy Ending

Tom thought that over. He was, at heart, a selfish bastard, and there was the distinct chance that if Lucius _did_ come here, he would be convinced to eat the food and 'become a part of the IKEA'. Whatever that meant. Some kind of twisted Persephone myth lodged in with this freakish shop from hell.

Perhaps if Harry answered, Lucius would realize something was wrong and contact the authorities.

"Go ahead," Tom said.

Harry hit the green button and raised the phone to his ear. "Hello! Who am I speaking to?"

There was the static of Lucius' response, then Harry said, "He's great! We've just had breakfast, and he's going to stay here at the IKEA with me forever as punishment for his past transgressions against nature."

This time there was no static.

"Mmm," Harry hummed. "You still there? Hello?"

Harry pulled the phone away and looked at the screen. "Huh. He hung up on me. That's weird."

Thank _fuck._ Tom prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of that Lucius had gone to contact the police.

"Okay, time for tour!" 

Harry handed Tom his mobile back, and Tom stuck it in his pocket, not daring to use it while Harry was still watching him. He just had to trust that Lucius was doing the smart thing.

* * *

THREE HOURS LATER

* * *

The IKEA was on lockdown.

Tom was once again at the IKEA Bistro, peering through the window at the police and soldiers gathered outside in the parking lot. What the hell was his life. What the _hell._

Harry had exchanged his IKEA uniform for terrifying blue-and-yellow battle armour and was now barking orders at the faceless IKEA employees. Tom was decidedly not looking at anything except the window.

After some time, Harry came over to check in on him. "Are you doing alright?" Harry asked kindly, resting a hand on Tom's shoulder.

"I'm fine," Tom said automatically.

"Well, just so you know, I don't think it's _very_ likely they'll bomb the IKEA. They don't actually know if we have customers in here or not."

That was not reassuring.

"Alright," Tom said, voice strangled. "That's good to know."

From there, the situation only continued to escalate. Planes flew overhead, too close for comfort, and people in army uniforms were shouting with megaphones. Tom remained by the window and hoped it would all end soon.

It did end. Not soon, but it did end.

Tom was huddled in the corner of the room, not daring to move lest he be shot at through the window, when Harry approached.

Harry's IKEA-themed battle armour now had large chunks missing from it, and those were definitely _bullet-holes_ gouged in the arms and torso. His hair was a tousled mess, and his glasses were cracked down the left lens.

"It's over," Harry said solemnly. "They're going to nuke the IKEA."

Tom had nothing to say to this.

"It was a good run while it lasted," Harry added. "I'm very sorry you didn't get to use your LACK side table."

Tom remained silent.

"I really think that if we had a chance, we really could have been something, you know?"

Tom opened his mouth, closed it, then picked up the plastic tray to his left and held it in front of his face.

"You're mad at me. I understand. But know that I will _always—"_

The IKEA blew up.

* * *

Tom woke with a panicked half-scream, sitting up. Wildly, he looked around, disoriented by his surroundings, utterly terrified that he was about to be blown into a million pieces.

"Hey! Woah! You're alright!"

Hands were grabbing at him; Tom nearly rolled straight onto the floor in his attempt to get away from _that voice._

"Get away!" Tom squeaked, undignified. "Stay back!"

Green eyes flashed with amusement. "If you say so. You do realize you hit your head, right? I was just about to call an ambulance. I still might, actually. Company policy probably means I should."

"Company policy," Tom muttered. "You mean _your policy,_ don't you? Because this is _your_ IKEA." Tom waved a hand in the air, then placed it back down to steady himself.

It was only then Tom registered that he was sitting on one of the IKEA display beds. Had Harry put him on here?

Harry's brows were climbing up his forehead. "My IKEA? That's real funny. I think maybe you did hit your head pretty hard. I'd almost say it serves you right for being such a jerk, but I do feel a bit bad about scaring the hell out of you when you woke up."

Tom was beginning to calm down and take in his surroundings properly. He was in the IKEA. The _real_ IKEA, not Harry's freakish IKEA filled with weird faceless people. He must have hit his head somehow, and that had caused him to have a crazy nightmare.

"How did I hit my head?" Tom asked.

"You got beaned by an alarm clock."

That figured. Tom nodded, mostly to himself, and swung his legs off the IKEA bed.

"Hey, hold on. I still ought to call emergency for you."

Harry's hands came to steady his shoulders. Tom glared at them until they fell away. "I'm fine," Tom said.

Harry seemed doubtful of this. "You were out cold for a while."

"I'm fine. No need to call anyone."

"If you say so." Harry took a step back and held out a hand.

Tom nearly told Harry to quit it, that he didn't need the help, but a flash of memory held him back. Tom stuck his arm out, stiffly, and allowed Harry to help pull him to his feet.

"There. That's not so hard, is it?" Harry said teasingly.

Tom flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I'll be on my way now," he said.

"You ought to be checked out for a concussion," Harry said disapprovingly. "Did you drive here? I can't let you leave in a car."

"I was dropped off. And I'm being picked up. I'll live."

Harry sighed. "Listen, I know you're the Mr. Independent type, or whatever, but really, please, just let me help you find what you're looking for and carry it out for you, okay? It'll ease my anxiety knowing that you aren't about to fall and accidentally impale yourself on an IKEA lamp."

Tom was offended. But as he recalled the rapidly dwindling dregs of his dream—his horrible, awful dream—he was hard pressed to turn the offer down.

"Fine. But only because you're insisting." Tom shifted his weight from foot to foot, then said haltingly, "I'm looking for a side table. It's the ten dollar one."

Harry smiled. This time, the smile was normal, and _warm,_ and... kind of nice. "Awesome. I can take you right there, no trouble at all."

They fell into step together. Tom kept his eyes peeled for walls of stuffed animals and faceless employees, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. The IKEA was filled with regular customers milling about their personal business.

Harry stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tacky blue IKEA trousers. "D'you mind if I ask your name, by the way? For, ah, emergency purposes."

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

Harry was still smiling. There was a little bounce to his step that Tom tried not to stare at. "It's nice to meet you, Tom," said Harry. "My name's Harry, Harry Potter."

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S ALL FOR THIS ENDING! feel free to go back to the start and try again!

**Author's Note:**

> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing (and where i livewrote this story) [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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